


Work Hard, Curse Hard

by wynnebat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Dark Harry Potter, Gratuitously Hot Voldemort, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 05:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12450900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: Harry decides Dark Lordship suits him at age eleven. It’s unfortunate that his predecessor just won’t retire already.





	Work Hard, Curse Hard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maurey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maurey/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Work Hard, Curse Hard (Chinese translation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13745439) by [RicardoHarasaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RicardoHarasaa/pseuds/RicardoHarasaa)



> Written for a [tumblr prompt](https://greenmornings.tumblr.com/post/166446392646/if-youre-still-taking-suggestions-id-love-to) by Maurey. Probably the crackiest thing I've written lately & I've written a _lot_ of crack lately.

The plan had been this: survive, learn, and leave the Dursleys as soon as he turned 18. It was a perfectly good plan. Harry had spent five years surviving through their neglect and abuse; the next year, he'd learned his body was able to produce a mystic strength that he could control. The Dursleys weren't a problem after that, but he still looked forward to leaving. And then Hogwarts knocked on his door and the world exploded around him. He wasn't the only one with these powers; he wasn't special. But he could also do so much more with his powers than he'd ever imagined, and Harry wouldn't have given that up for anything. His sorting had been something of a surprise—the Hat had refused to place him in Slytherin, saying Hogwarts would burn in under a year, thought he would kill the Gryffindors (which was so insulting, but then Harry had indeed practiced some curses on a few red and gold-tie wearing wanna-be bullies on the train), and told him:

"My metaphorical hands are tied. None of the information I've learned today will ever be able to leave my lips, but there is still something I can do for this world whose children I shepherd. If I can help you learn the value of loyalty and friendship, perhaps it will be enough."

"Hufflepuff?" Harry had asked. "That doesn't sound very glorious. Everyone I've talked to is trying to avoid it."

"Would you actually prefer Ravenclaw?"

Harry's nose twitched. "No, thanks. They sound like pretentious wankers. I love to read, but I'm hardly doing it for the sake of pure knowledge or good grades. Send me to Hufflepuff, I guess. I'll figure something out."

"Do remember what I told you. Each human mind I touch is precious to me, just as yours is. I wish you happiness in HUFFLEPUFF!"

Which, all in all, hadn't been that bad of a decision.

 

*

 

It would have been an amazing image: the two Hogwarts champions, yellow and black ties fluttering in the wind, appearing in front of the stands with each on one side of the trophy. After finding out where they were supposed to appear, Harry had placed Rita and Bozo at the perfect angle to get the best shot. Hard work—but self-serving hard work, which was the type of hard work that Harry most enjoyed—had gone into this plan. It didn't make any sense at all that Harry would open his eyes in the middle of a graveyard like it was Halloween come early.

And was that Wormtail about to shoot a curse at him? Harry had in fact been meaning to track him down and kill him, because human life was important, but only when it came to those who had pledged themselves to him or had otherwise earned his favor.

" _Protego_!" Harry yelled, but Wormtail's rat-like reflexes meant he was quickly turning to Cedric.

Harry just barely managed to pull Cedric out of the way of a killing curse flying right at him. Thankfully, he and Cedric were well used to working together, both in Quidditch and in their more interesting extracurricular pursuits, so Cedric moved with him with a ready ease. Harry's killing curse and Cedric's stunning curse hit Wormtail at approximately the same time, but Harry's won out.

Harry poked at the body with his foot just to make sure. Really, "What the hell was that, Wormtail? I have places to be."

"Let me get that acromantula blood out of your hair, my friend," Cedric said, already casting the charm. And to think, Wormtail had tried to kill Harry's right hand man. Harry contemplated finding a way to resurrect Wormtail just to kill him again, more painfully this time, but decided it would take more effort than the rat deserved. Harry glanced over his robes, which were ripped just enough to imply a glorious battle to the audience, and cleared the rest of the blood off, making sure to check on Cedric as well.

" _Potter_ ," came a hiss from behind the large cauldron and out walked—

"Are you a gnome?" Harry asked, ignoring the burning of his scar.

"I am the mighty Lord Voldemort," the gnome cried. He was two feet tall, his skin a wrinkly, ashy gray. Even at Harry's rather average height—he was still waiting for that growth spurt—he loomed over Voldemort in his current form.

"That's even worse than being on the back of Quirrell's head," Harry commiserated. "At least Quirrell had more height, even if he was still pretty hard to take seriously.

"In this form, I am free from listening to Quirrell's whining," Voldemort sneered. The expression looked kinda cute on his weird, tiny face.

"If I avada you now, you're just going to come back later, aren't you?" Harry said with a deep sigh. Merlin, Voldemort could claim to not be a gnome all he wanted, but he was just as bad as the Weasleys' gnome problem. How many times over did Harry have to be the Boy Who Lived Through This Asshole's Attempts to Kill Him?

"Of course. I have gone so much further down the path to immortality than any man before me has ever dared. I am the great Dark Lord Voldemort and I will never leave this world until I've had my fill of it completely." He continued on, but Harry stopped listening. There was something really disturbing about hearing a gnome doing a megalomaniac speech. "…have you been petrified by your fear of me, Potter?"

"No, I just have a short attention span." And frankly, he had his own plans to make instead of listening to Voldemort's.

Harry wasn't a fan of competition. And he wasn't fond of the fact that the previous Dark Lord, whose spot in society he was diligently trying to fill, simply refused to die. In his first year at Hogwarts, Harry had set Voldemort's wraith on fire in the Forbidden Forest, earning himself a commendation for his defense of an innocent unicorn and the friendship of the centaurs. Later that year, he'd discovered the nifty talent of being able to burn Voldemort's vessel with his hands, but even though Quirrell had died, Voldemort had still successfully fled. Dumbledore had even awarded him the house cup for it. The next year, he'd met a younger version of the man, smoking hot and not even too insane, but Tom Riddle hadn't been allowed to stay. The creature itself he hadn't minded, but Justin was one of his.

Third year, Harry had to deal with Voldemort's minions. First Sirius, who he thankfully failed to kill before the man was able to tell him the truth about his parents' deaths, then Wormtail, whom Harry had wounded badly but hadn't been able to kill. He'd taken his rage out on the dementors, but it just hadn't been the same. And now he'd found that instead of the Triwizard Cup simply realizing that Harry was the most worthy student in all of Hogwarts and thus spitting his name out without prompting, it was simply a ruse the Dark Lord had orchestrated to do battle with him yet again. At least he'd killed Wormtail. That almost made this whole thing worth it.

"Cedric, would you mind," Harry called with a wave of his hand. Like a proper minion, Cedric had hung back while Harry and Voldemort were talking, but now he conjured a throne directly behind Harry. Harry would've done it himself, but Cedric's conjuring was always better than his own. It was a yellow-gold throne with black stones, a stunning piece of transfiguration. After settling in, Harry sighed and conjured a small wooden stool for the Dark Lord, just to be polite. Judging by his glare, the Dark Lord didn't appreciate his manners at all. Rude.

"You wouldn't be able to get up onto a throne," Harry explained himself. "You're like what, two feet tall? If that? Come on, I know house elves who are taller than you."

"Potter," Voldemort hissed. "What in all magic is wrong with you? Were you dropped on your head as a baby?"

"Maybe in the first couple years, but my relatives learned the error of their ways eventually," Harry replied with a little bit of smugness. Ah, his first success as a budding Dark Lord. He was still so nostalgic about it.

"Why couldn't you have just been a normal fourteen year old boy," Voldemort groaned, shifting in the seat. "You could have just been a good boy and just died already. I've given you so many chances for it. Was it really too much to fucking ask for?"

"Yes," Harry said, easily. "I'm not really into the whole sacrificial lamb thing—" a glance at the cauldron "—or cannibalism."

"The only thing I wanted from you was your blood," Voldemort told him, staring at him intently, as though he might leap over and try to get it out himself. Voldemort's gnome teeth looked pretty sharp.

"All of it?"

"Half of that chalice."

Harry peered over at the small object balancing on the edge of the cauldron. "That's… actually a really small chalice. It doesn't seem very villainous of you to not just drain me of all of it."

"I would've killed you directly after my resurrection," Voldemort explained. "I had no intention of letting you survive this encounter. My pride has been damaged enough."

"Alright, that's the Dark Lord I know and love. So since your plan didn't work out, let's roll out a new one. You murdering me is out, me murdering you sounds like a lot more effort than it seems." Harry tapped on the side of his golden throne, lost in thought. He was imagining just stomping Voldemort out like a bug, but the man was a cockroach. He'd just find a way to bite his foot off. Honestly, why did he, Boy Who Lived, savior of the wizarding world, deserve such a determined nemesis?

Voldemort arched one of his little eyebrows. "Are you proposing a deal?"

"I am," Harry agreed. If this was what he had to do, well. Maybe he and Voldemort could figure out their differences in time. They had so much in common—employing minions, killing people they hated, wanting to take over the country—that maybe they could bond over it. "We don't have to work through the details now. Agree to a truce and I'll help you get your body back."

"A very limited truce," Voldemort corrected. "But your idea isn't completely without merit." A thoughtful pause, and, "I'm not holding out hope that you are interested in becoming one of my followers."

"Nope."

"You would have been a terribly insubordinate Death Eater anyway. The truce lasts from now until we renegotiate it at a time when the entirety of Hogwarts isn't expecting you to return to them at any moment."

"And by 'renegotiate' both sides have to agree. Willingly. And my definition of truce is refraining from harming the other party or having someone do it for you. That better be in the vow."

"So distrustful, Potter," Voldemort hissed, laughing creepily.

It took long enough to work out a vow they could both agree to that Harry considered just telling the tournament to screw itself and staying here until they reached a more permanent truce. He really didn't want to have to do this again in a couple weeks. Poor Cedric looked bored, too, sitting cross-legged nearby and weaving a flower crown. By the time both Harry and Voldemort took their vow, Cedric had draped a very elaborate crown over Harry's head.

The deed done, Harry evaluated his enemy turned temporary ally. "What else do you need for this ritual of yours? A dozen virgins?"

"Are you offering yourself as one?"

Harry squawked, pointing at Voldemort accusingly. "No, I refuse, you can't say that kind of thing when you're a foot tall."

Voldemort only looked amused, but continued with his actual list of demands. "A chalice of your blood, bone of my father, which I've already collected… And flesh of a servant."

"I suppose a dead one is no good," Harry sighed. It figured, the one use Wormtail had, he wasn't there to fulfill it.

He watched Voldegnome pop off the stool and waddle over to Wormtail. With some effort, he pulled up Wormtail's sleeve to reveal an ugly skull-shaped tattoo on the rat's forearm. At least Harry wasn't marking his followers like that, ew. He had some ideas, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to copy the other man's thing. It might seem derivative. But if he ended up doing it, his marks would be much more individualized and attractive. Voldemort pressed Wormtail's wand against the tattoo, his little face scrunching up in concentration. Nothing happened for a while, but then there was crack of apparition and Moody of all people appeared.

"How the hell did you corrupt Moody?" Harry asked, mystified.

Both ignored him. Moody took a knee, bowed his head, and said, "My lord. What can I do for you?"

"Take the antidote, Barty," Voldemort ordered.

Before Harry's eyes, Moody transformed into a man Harry had never seen before. Huh. It looked like the shindig was beginning, so Harry left his throne and picked up the chalice. Glancing down, he noticed the cauldron was already filled with some kind of potion. Voldemort was such a boy scout. Cedric appeared before him and Harry gave him the chalice to hold up.

"I don't like this," Cedric said, quietly. "Are you sure it's the right path to take?"

"At least seventy-five percent sure," Harry replied, slashing his arm and watching the blood pour out. "Maybe sixty."

Cedric huffed at him. "I'll be at your back, but I won't be much use against a Dark Lord and one of his older followers."

"Let's hope it doesn't have to come to anything," Harry told him. They'd taken a vow of truce, but he knew there was a possibility of Voldemort having a way to get around it. Harry hated how much older and more experienced the man was, but it was unavoidable. He would catch up eventually. "If this gets bad and you can't get me out, I want you to leave me. He doesn't care about you enough to follow you."

"Not a chance," Cedric replied, firmly.

Cedric healed him and Harry left the chalice where he found it, this time full of his blood. He sat back down on his throne with Cedric standing beside him. The ritual itself wasn't too interesting. Dark, brutal, but with a lot more drama than interesting stuff. Harry wondered if Voldemort had chosen it precisely for the dramatic potential. He wouldn't put it past him. At the last step, Barty actually dropped Voldemort into the cauldron as though he was cooking up a pot of meat stew. Harry hoped this kind of craziness wasn't in his future. He wanted to be a Dark Lord, but he would endeavor to do it Hufflepuff-style.

Smoke began to rise from the cauldron. Harry sniffed the air, but he couldn't smell any burning flesh. A dark figure began to form in the mist, and slowly, a man stepped out of the cauldron. A tall, dark-haired, naked man. Voldemort had regained much of his looks as Tom Riddle, just older, perhaps in his thirties. Harry was slowly beginning to realize that this hadn't been a mistake at all, because damn. Even if he and Voldemort went back to being mortal enemies after this, at least he'd have some eye candy across from him in battle.

"Nice bod," Harry praised, taking in the entire view.

Voldemort looked down at himself and his attractive lips turned down in a scowl. Harry couldn't tell at what, because really, there was nothing to frown at there. Barty, a cruel man, took away the view when he draped a pair of robes over Voldemort. Taking a wand out of the robes, Voldemort conjured a mirror of all things. It was vain, but Harry supposed the man was hot enough for him to forgive the vanity.

"Potter," Voldemort said, slowly, as he stared into the mirror. "How exactly do you perceive me?"

"... as a Dark Lord?"

Voldemort pinched the curve of his nose. For the first time in his life, Harry felt like a schoolboy about to be told off and it was kinda working for him.

"The ritual takes into account the perceptions of the people whose parts are used in it," Voldemort said through his teeth. The mirror self-destructed in his hands, no trace of it left behind. "The more powerful the perception—or the power of the wizard—the more influence it would've had on my body. I had intended on your and Wormtail's fear of me and my father's hatred to give me a body that would properly fit me as a fearsome, powerful lord who stands above humanity. And instead I get this!"

The man was completely insane, Harry decided. "It's obviously your dad's fault. We can salt and burn his grave if you want."

"My father was a muggle," Voldemort sneered. Even his sneers were hot. "I doubt his opinions were very much in play. That leaves the two of you."

A distraught Barty prostrated himself in front of Voldemort, which seemed to please Voldemort. Harry wondered if it was a kink or what. "My lord, I'm sorry for any damage I have caused! I only see you as my lord, an extraordinary powerful man with of fierce vision, as the herald of darkness in our time."

Harry wondered if he could sway Barty to his side. He wouldn't mind being complimented all the time in that style. He supposed he may as well alleviate the man's suffering, since he looked pitiful and actually repentant.

"I'll let Barty take credit for some of your aura of doom and gloom, but your looks are probably mostly my fault," Harry admitted, though without a hint of apology. "Your younger self was smoking hot and we chatted through his diary for a couple months. I just honestly assumed that if you popped out of that cauldron looking like anything, it would be him."

"You were in possession of my diary?"

"Yeah, he let the basilisk out for a walk a couple times during my second year through a Gryffindor girl. The whole thing eventually got irritating, so I chucked him in the attic of my relatives' home. I figured if he gets up to something again, he'll just be possessing a muggle anyway."

"You..." Voldemort looked too angry for words. And then it seemed he remembered Harry's earlier words and said, "You found him attractive?"

"Because he was. Blindingly. I mean if he were a real person who went to Hogwarts I would've taken him to the Yule Ball and tried to get to third base before the night ended. So really can you blame me for hoping his looks weren't gone from this world forever? Really, he was hot but if this is what he looked like in his thirties then damn." Harry shook his head at the memory. Now, all he had to do was look at Voldemort to remind himself of all that was sexy in the world.

"I don't even know what to do with you," Voldemort said, a hint of a groan in his voice.

"Cede control of wizarding Britain?"

"Out. Take the cup and go back to Hogwarts. I need time to find the patience to deal with you."

"If you don't contact me within a week, I'll write you a love letter," Harry told him. "Actually I might do it anyway. Ciao! Come on, Cedric. Barty, don't be a stranger."

Before he and Cedric touched the cup, Harry looked back to get one last look at Voldemort and found him looking back at him. There was irritation in his gaze, but that wasn't all there was.

"No, Potter."

"Yes, Voldemort," Harry said, feeling very smug about the whole thing. And then with a flash of light, he and Cedric were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> (Later, Cedric & Barty totally bond over being the lords' favorite minions.)
> 
> For more fiction of dubious quality: my [tumblr](https://crownwithoutstones.tumblr.com/) ;)


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